Dead Eyes
by BlueMoss
Summary: They wish it was a nightmare, but it isn't.


Damian is 12 here. This is after Bruce is back as Batman and Dick is still in Gotham as Nightwing. NOT NU52 SHIT NOOOOOO. (Steph is still Batgirl). I don't own Batman stuff blah blah.

Damian growled to himself as he slammed the glass door of the Wayne penthouse behind him, trodding onto the soft carpet of the main sitting room with his muddy green combat boots. His shoulders slumped in exhaustion as he practically dragged himself across the dark, empty space towards the bedrooms, leaving dirty footprints on the crisp white floor. Damian moved into his room without turning on the overhead lamp; the lights of the city below were bright enough to illuminate it. He took a moment to look over the space. This was his room.

_His._

He liked this room better than the one at the manor. It was smaller and the furnishings were much simpler. He had always preferred smaller living quarters as opposed to large ones; he always slept better in them. That's why, every once in a while, he would come to the penthouse to sleep, always turning off his tracer so he wouldn't be bothered. And it had nothing to do with waking up here and remembering different times... Nothing.

The dirty, worn Robin moved through the room to the private bath. He flicked on the light and peeled the uniform off, piece by piece. Damian gave the costume a once-over. The cape was torn from where Killer Croc had grabbed him the night before, and the filth was from the sewers tracking him. There were other wounds on the fabric, small slits that matched the shallow cuts on his skin from his brief back and forth with the Joker. He hadn't expected the man to be so agile and skilled with a knife.

Damian sighed and tossed it aside. He'd have to ask Pennyworth to mend it, or make him a new one. Turning on the water in the shower, he stepped in before it could warm up. The cold water made his muscles tense, but they relaxed as the water warmed. The soap made the cuts sting but he ignored it. Such minor wounds he could ignore, though he did make sure they were clean.

After he was clean and much more relaxed, he turned off the water and stepped out into the warm, steamy bathroom. Grabbing the towel from the hook, which had been hanging there since his last solitary visit, Damian traveled back into the bedroom to retrieve a pair of pajama pants. He pulled them on and rubbed his hair with the towel before practically falling into the bed.

The young Robin had been awake for 52 hours. He had tracked and captured Croc, and then was called on to help deal with a huge situation where the Joker was keeping multiple policemen's families hostage. Of course all the hostages were saved, but the Joker had slipped through the net and had got away. His father was tracking him, but Damian was so tired that Batman had ordered him home to rest. Even though he wanted to help his father, Damian didn't argue.

The kid was asleep the moment his body hit the mattress.

It was mid-afternoon before the sun streaming through the window forced the boy to stir. He groaned, arching his back and then rolled over to face the ceiling. Damian sighed. He hadn't slept that good in a while and his body felt refreshed, except that he was starving.

Damian rolled off the bed and started toward the kitchen, flattening his bed-head as he went. He kept a box of chocolate and peanut butter protein bars hidden in with the pots and pans. Dick had introduced him to them, and ever since they had been a secret splurge of his. If Alfred ever found them, Damian knew that he would never hear the end of it.

After scarfing down two of the chewy treats, Damian grabbed the phone from the counter and plopped onto carpet of the sitting room, intent on doing some stretching. His eyes went to the muddy prints he left behind the night before. He wasn't looking forward to Alfred's face when he saw them. The young Robin quickly dialed the butler's private line, only to be met with a message telling him it was disconnected. Well that's odd... He tried the manor next, getting the same robotic voice. He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it like it had just told him a bad joke.

Damian stood, stretching his back, and then headed towards the large fireplace which contained a secret entrance to the bunker. He definitely wanted to find out what was going on, but just as he placed his hand on the mantle something caught his eye out of the window.

Smoke was billowing from a building five blocks away. For a few moments, Damian was conflicted. He wanted to find out what was going on at home, but there also might be people who need help just a few blocks away. Damian knew what his father would want him to do.

With a huff, the boy returned to his bathroom where his Robin suit lay strewn on the floor. Quickly, he pulled on the dirty costume and exited the penthouse onto the balcony. Damian could smell the smoke, like tar and flesh.

Leaping from the railing, Robin quickly made his way towards the dark column, landing on the building opposite. There wasn't a fire here, at least not anymore. The building had burned to the ground, and all that was left were the smoldering ashes. And there was something else. No one was here. No firemen, police, or even by-standers. Damian took a look around and didn't see one person on the street. What is going on...

He pulls away his Robin badge and activates his tracer, then wonders if the lack of people is connected to the manor not responding. He turned on his communicator next.

"Oracle, do you copy?"


End file.
